


now you're just a page torn (from the story I'm living)

by Alysae



Series: we built a dynasty (forever couldn't break up) [3]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Canonical Character Death, Happy Ending in the other works of the series, M/M, Pre-Slash, basically Bruce leaving the hologram for the real stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alysae/pseuds/Alysae
Summary: “Oh and,really,just go visit his damn headstone. It’s what normal people do, you know.”He hopped on his motorcycle and started the engine. Bruce watched quietly, didn’t even try to stop him, as he mulled over Dick’s words. He wanted to brush them off, or at least to push them to the back of his mind. But they were annoyingly insistent.Or; Bruce goes to the cemetery and sees someone he would have rather avoided. And really, the feelings he started developing for the dead should definitely not exist.





	now you're just a page torn (from the story I'm living)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is composed of some snippets of Bruce’s life while Clark is still dead. Clearly, for this work, you'll have to read the first part.
> 
> I wanted to put these scenes in my first work of the series, but the opportunity never came. This happens before the canon of Justice League (2017).
> 
> Dick does appear in neither movies (to the point where I wonder if Dick is even going to appear in the DCEU), so, as I love Dick, I picked him from the DCAU and forcibly introduced him to this universe lol. This Dick is still mad at Bruce after he learned that Batgirl is Barbara Gordon and that neither of them told him about it and about Bruce allowing her to be in danger. Their relationship is very strained.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Loud steps echoed throughout the dark, damp and cold Cave as Bruce slowly walked down. He turned on the lights, even if he could perfectly see in the dark─he knew every corner of his Cave by heart ( _where every little thing was, where he or Alfred had left the little trinkets on the ground, where exactly the costume was and where the hologram hovered─_ ).

So it was normal when he immediately raised his arms in a defensive manner, his muscles tense, as he faced the intruder.

His mind reeled for a moment as he thought about every possible breach of security─which should have been _impossible_. Surely if the intruder had come from upstairs, either Bruce or Alfred would have seen him coming. And there was no way the intruder had known about the secret entrance from the waterfall─for his Batmobile, or his motorcycle. And surely he couldn’t have gone underwater─all the traps that Bruce implanted… surely nobody other than Bruce himself would have known─

It was that thought that made him pause in his attack and actually _saw_ the face of the intruder─who hadn’t moved an inch as if he knew that Bruce would come to this realisation.

“Dick,” he finally said, losing his fighting stance. “I taught you well.”

Dick’s mouth curled slightly up. “Too well, you could say.”

Bruce cautiously walked up to him. Dick was staring at Bruce with an indecipherable look, making him extremely uncomfortable─even if he didn’t show it.

Dick had been standing in front of the hologram. Bruce couldn’t help looking at it─it sought out his gaze, his attention, and captured it entirely as if the rest of the world did not exist. Looking at it, the red cape billowing behind the transparent body, something churned painfully in his gut and took his breath away.

He had that reaction every single time he looked at it. He didn’t show anything.

“You know this is creepy, right?”

Dick’s voice shook him out of his daze. He was still looking at Bruce.

“I mean, I get it for Jason’s─” He gulped, and continued, “I get it. But Superman?”

“What about it?” Bruce asked, voice carefully neutral.

Dick crossed his arms over his chest. “What about it?” he repeated, incredulous. “Why do you even do this? Is it something to remember him? Or is it your morbid way of reminding yourself of your mistakes?”

“Mistakes,” Bruce muttered.

“Yes, _mistakes_ ,” he repeated. The young man─because _yes_ , Dick was a man now, all grown up─waved a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. Bruce─”

“It not that.”

“Right,” Dick said, unconvinced. “I’ll play along, then. Let’s say it _is_ your creepy way of remembering him. You _do_ know there are better, _healthier_ , ways of doing so, right?” Before Bruce could even reply, he was talking again. “And what do you do with it? Do you just stare at it for hours in the dark? Do you _talk_ to it?”

“No,” he answered. At least, for the last question; he didn’t _talk_ to it. Alfred might have found Bruce on the Cave, enveloped in darkness, staring at the hologram fixedly for various hours, though.

Dick made a noncommittal noise and sat in the chair in front of the hologram (for when Bruce stared at it), and turned slowly back to the figure. He stared at it for a moment in silence, and Bruce was reminded that Dick had immediately felt admiration for the man right from the moment he appeared and saved the world from Zod.

(Because that _is_ what he did. He had saved the world from Zod. He hadn’t destroyed it. His intentions weren’t for Metropolis to be destroyed in the chaos─)

“You were there, weren’t you?” Dick asked lowly. The Cave was in complete silence─it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Bruce just didn’t know how his relationship with Dick was. Was Dick still mad at Bruce for endangering Barbara’s life without informing him?

“Yes,” he replied just as quietly.

“I know that you fought him─” Bruce tensed slightly, the muscles on his shoulders drawing up in a defensive manner. “Alfred told me. He was… concerned.”

“I know.”

“But I _didn’t_ know. You didn’t say anything to me─you didn’t even tell me that you _met_ him. You─you could have. You _should_ have.”

Dick was biting his lower lip, torturing it between his teeth as he thought deeply about something. Probably wondering if he was still angry at Bruce. Or if he was even angrier now that he had fought Superman. Bruce knew Dick wouldn’t have approved.

“One day, out of nowhere, Alfred calls me telling me that you went and got yourself in trouble─which, granted, isn’t actually _news_ ; you’re always in trouble. But─but his voice was concerned. And for Alfred to be _concerned─_ I knew then that you got yourself in _big_ trouble. And _then_ Alfred told me that you went to fight Superman─because _of course_ you would do that─and told me to stay put because there was nothing that I could do to change your mind or stop you… All the while I knew you were literally committing _suicide_.”

“It wasn’t suicide. I knew exactly what I was doing. I had everything under control.”

“Yes, until that control slips through your hands. Bruce, I─” Dick looked up at him then, eyes intense, all the while wringing his hands together. “I think we need to talk about what happened. We didn’t say anything─I just left and you let me. A lot of things were left unsaid, and I think it’s time we had a serious conversation about it.”

Bruce looked away─at Superman’s hologram, hovering there like a patient god looking down at them with a small smile.

Dick let out a small sigh, looking down at his hands on his lap. “I… How was he like?”

_How was Superman like?_

Bruce’s throat squeezed tightly as he remembered that night─when he _truly_ met Superman. When he _truly_ met _Clark Kent_. “He wasn’t like what I expected.”

Dick’s lip curled up slightly at the corner. “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

It was Bruce’s turn to sit on another chair. He continued staring at the hologram. “I thought he would─that he would feel superior to humans. How could a being with such powers not feel like a god? I thought that once he got enough admirers, enough devotees, he would let go of that nice persona of his and turn out to be a powerful monster that would enslave humanity─”

“ _Bruce─_ ” Dick choked, and yes, Bruce could understand him now.

“I _thought_ that,” Bruce said, emphasising. Because he had─and now he regretted not learning more about Superman’s origins. He regretted not looking into it deeper─he had only skimmed the surface, had based his knowledge and thoughts on _Luthor’s_ documents and his own rage and grief. He regretted not doing a background on Clark Kent when he had started too many questions about the Bat, and maybe he would have found something linking him to Superman, and Bruce would have seen him in a new light, as more of a human instead of only an alien─

“And you don’t think that anymore,” Dick prompted.

“No, I don’t. I learned that he _has_ a family. That he grew up on Earth, and that he was more human than I ever thought. Than I could ever be.”

Dick’s mouth opened in a silent _o_ , eyes widening slightly as he looked more closely at Bruce. “That’s not true─”

“It _is_. He had a life─a true one, with people he loved and a job. He _lived_.”

He could see that Dick wanted to deny what Bruce was implying, that he wanted to take back Bruce’s words. But he knew he couldn’t because Bruce was _right_.

So he just opened and closed his mouth for a moment before looking down at his hands. He gave another long suffering sigh and stood up. Bruce looked back at the hologram.

“You know, I came here to actually yell at you and force myself not to strangle you.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“You. You just look so pitying, looking at Superman’s hologram like a lovesick fool who got dumped on prom day.”

Bruce opened his mouth to argue─he did _not_ look like that. Dick’s comparisons were getting worse and worse.

“Anyway,” Dick interrupted, “I really think we need to talk. You’re not in the mood today, I get it, but we _will_ talk.” He turned to leave, and that is when Bruce finally noticed the glaring motorcycle that definitely did _not_ belong there. “Oh and, _really_ , just go visit his damn headstone. It’s what normal people do, you know.”

He hopped on his motorcycle and started the engine. Bruce watched quietly, didn’t even try to stop him, as he mulled over Dick’s words. He wanted to brush them off, or at least to push them to the back of his mind. But they were annoyingly insistent.

_Just like the owner of the words_ , Bruce thought, exasperated.

 

* * *

 

The wind blew gently over the trees and ruffled his hair. He buried his face in his scarf and closed the coat more firmly around himself. His neat shoes crushed the dirt under his feet as he slowly walked down the path. He didn’t look around himself, keeping his eyes straight ahead, ignoring the other standing headstones. The smell of fresh and damp dirt invaded his senses and his steps slowed down.

**Clark Joseph Kent. 1980-2015.**

He stared at the engraved name like it was a completely different language─one he was foreign to, despite being fluent in many, _many_ languages.

There were a few small flowers, withered with time and weather. One was falling to the side, and Bruce crouched down to place it neatly on the small vase filled with water. They weren’t extravagant flowers─far from it, they were flowers one could easily pick from the fields of Kansas.

He guessed his mother couldn’t really afford a beautiful bouquet.

His gaze clouded and he slowly extracted the single flower he had pocketed and placed it inside the little vase, wondering how long it would take for it to stand withered, used, and abused by the weather.

Bruce still didn’t know why he actually came. Sure, Dick mentioned it─but Bruce told himself not to; to put that thought away. He shouldn’t be here, he didn’t belong here.

His flower felt like an intruder─way to expensive, perhaps superficial, between the small, yet beautiful, other flowers. They were white, petals worn and some have fallen to the ground, and the middle was a light yellow to give some colour to the gray, hard stone.

He still didn’t know why he came.

He stared at his light red carnation, a clashing colour in the middle of all the white. He wondered for a brief minute if he should pick it up again and leave.

_Damn it, Dick_.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips before he could suppress it and he balls his hands into fists.

_He didn’t know why he came._

It certainly wasn’t to _talk_. He hadn’t talked to a hologram, he certainly will not talk to a deaf  _stone_. And if he was to stand there and stare at the name for hours in the cold air, might as well have stayed at the lakehouse, in his Cave, staring at the face his hologram portrayed.

But staring at the hologram was different─it was more unreal, some kind of fantasy, held in time as if nothing ever disrupted it. As if Superman hadn’t died.

Staring at the tomb was earth-shattering─the proof of it, right in front of his eyes, just a step away, six feet under─

He exhaled slowly through parted lips, tensed his shoulders up to cover his red, cold ears a little better. Some kind of false comfort.

**Clark Joseph Kent. 1980-2015.**

The engraved words hammered into his brain, insistent, demanding his attention even if his eyes tried to flee and look anywhere else. The dates made bile rise up his throat involuntarily and he swallowed it down with difficulty. His throat was dry, and he felt sick, as if he had caught a cold or a fever.

_35_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully.

And here he was, forty-four and counting, as if it was a terrible joke on him.

He couldn’t stare at it anymore. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but it felt like hours.

(Though it was probably less than fifteen minutes. _Time passed differently in cemeteries_ , Bruce thought, grim.)

He turned away from the headstone and walked back down the same path he came in.

Except this time it wasn’t empty. Someone─a small, feminine silhouette─slowly walked up to the iron gates. Bruce watched it approach, face expressionless, but muscles strained. There shouldn’t be anyone─even if Smallville does have _some_ population, no one would come to a cemetery in a weekday.

His expressionless façade crumbled slightly as he recognised the face of the figure.

And she seemed to recognise him too.

(Cautious face slowly melting to a surprised reaction, lips slowly parting as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.)

She stopped before him. “Mr Wayne,” she said, voice disbelieving.

“Mrs Kent,” Bruce greeted, voice strained and awkward.

_Caught_.

She seemed to come back to her senses, her widened eyes softening and mouth closing and forming a small, tight smile. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Of course she wasn’t─ _Bruce_ didn’t know why he was there. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh, nonsense, don’t let an old lady frighten you so,” she said, taking his arm firmly in hand and turning him around towards Clark’s headstone.

Bruce resisted the need to splutter that _no, he wasn’t frightened by her_ , but deep down he knew there was some truth. He was going to ask her why─why she didn’t let him leave, why she dragged him back, why she was being so gentle with him? He was _Bruce Wayne_. Nobody liked _Bruce Wayne_. But she beat him to it, as if she followed the train of his thoughts.

“After all, you _are_ a friend of my son,” she simply said, her lip curling up at the corner.

He blanched, stumbled on his step, and stared at her with open horror.

How could she know _that_? How could she know his secret identity? Surely, Clark hadn’t told her─or had he? He didn’t know anything. And he hated not knowing.

Mrs Kent’s worried face came back to his vision. “Oh dear, I hope you’re not too bothered with me finding out about you. You thought you were sneaky when you paid for that funeral anonymously, didn’t you? But this old lady still has brains. I saw you here, at the funeral, and it was just a matter of putting two and two together to find out that you were the one to pay for it.”

Bruce’s mind felt numb, blank. He couldn’t think at all and actually understand what she was saying. “But how did you know…” He trailed off.

She briefly looked around them before speaking. “That you are Batman?” she finished for him, voice quiet. He was grateful that she at least kept it a secret. “It wasn’t difficult, either. You and that young lady were the only ones that stood out like a sore thumb at the funeral. You didn’t approach. And Lois told me that there was a woman fighting alongside Clark and Batman. It was a matter of putting two and two together, like I said.”

Bruce, despite himself, snorted. “I guess I have been a little reckless,” he said, a little self-deprecating.

She slapped his forearm─still clutched in her hold─gently. “Just a little,” she conceded.

And then she looked down at the headstone, falling quiet, before inhaling a sharp gasp as she finally noticed the bright light red flower standing out in the middle of the small white ones. She let go of his arm to slowly crouch down and take the carnation in her hands.

She touched the soft petals soothingly. “It’s beautiful,” she commented. And then, “Do you know what it means?”

Bruce shrugged nonchalantly. Of course he did. “I’d rather not dwell on flower meanings,” he lied instead.

There was a small smile in her face and Bruce repressed the urge to blush. He wasn’t sure if she knew the meaning, or if she was simply smiling because it was beautiful.

Either way, she didn’t elaborate or tell him anything. She just stood crouched in front of the headstone, caressing the flower, before finally placing it back in the vase. With a small, wrinkled hand, she touched the name engraved on the hard, cold stone.

**Clark**.

“He was named after me,” she murmured, not looking up at Bruce to the point he thought she wasn’t talking at him at all.

He felt like an intruder, a trespasser. This was a secret, loving moment between a loving mother and her deceased son. Bruce wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to see anything, to hear anything.

And yet, she had dragged him there in her own volition. And she was talking to him willingly.

Bruce thought she looked lonely.

And that’s why he couldn’t refuse when she invited him for tea.

 

* * *

 

The Kent’s farmhouse was typical and cliché. It was a house one would find in every movie that had a farmhouse in it.

It was relatively a small house, but Bruce was little biased. Its exterior was wooden and painted white, a typical porch at the front, a blue truck parked to the side and it even had a red barn. Had he been with anyone else, he would groaned outwardly at the pure cliché. As it was, he stayed quiet and polite as he followed Mrs Kent inside.

Again, he felt like a trespasser as he crossed the threshold. This was _Clark’s_ home. Clark’s _safe place_. He must be rolling in his grave as Bruce walked in.

On the way to the farmhouse, he explained to Mrs Kent that, really, he wasn’t Clark’s friend. If anything, he was an enemy, and that she shouldn’t be inviting him in─

But she had swiftly interrupted, saying that she _knew_ what happened. And she had added that he had saved her in the end (and paid for the funeral, which she admitted she couldn’t have afforded).

In the end, Bruce just shut up instead of trying to fight this. It was just tea.

Except, once Bruce was inside, Mrs Kent couldn’t seem to stop talking about Clark. The was a photograph on the wall of the hall─Clark as a child, wearing overalls and clutching an ice cream cone.

(“It was the first time he showed his super strength,” Mrs Kent had commented. “Obviously, we couldn’t take a photo of him holding our old tractor in case our neighbours visited. We gave him ice cream to calm him down. He had been so scared,” she added nostalgically.

Bruce had never considered that the Superman would’ve discovered his powers one at a time, coming suddenly, discontrolled─it was a little frightening to think that Clark could have accidentally harmed anyone around him. He had never thought that Clark would be afraid of the exact same thing.)

The was another photograph in the kitchen, where Mrs Kent instructed Bruce to sit down while she boiled water. It was a family photo. And it was during Clark’s graduation. He was wearing his graduation hat, all in black, a rolled paper in hand, and showing all his teeth and dimples. He was in his late teens and surrounded by Mrs Kent and what Bruce presumed must have been Mr Kent. They were hugging Clark and looking at the camera with proud looks.

Something churned inside him, a long forgotten longing that he suppressed to the back of his mind. He didn’t want those thoughts to come back _now_.

Mrs Kent set a teacup in front of him and Bruce took it gratefully. He didn’t know what to say─he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He placed them around the china and seeked out the warm radiating from the tea. It smelled heavenly.

In the end, he needn’t talk─Mrs Kent did all the talking. She talked about Clark, obviously. About his childhood (“Always seeking out to blend in, but we knew he didn’t have many friends. It’s like they knew Clark was different.”), his job at the Daily Planet, his job as a superhero, and how much he _just_ _wanted to help_.

After that, he hastily excused himself, feeling like his gut had been repeatedly stabbed in his stay. She seemed to understand. Before he left, he gave her his business card with his personal number, instructing her to call him if she needed something.

(She did call. A week later.

_It was only an excuse_ , Bruce thought, as he hauled boxes after boxes with Clark’s personal belongings into the basement.

She had called asking him for help to move the boxes, saying that she was way to physically weak and frail. “An old lady shouldn’t put that much effort, you know. Something could pop,” she had said.

But she had helped, anyway. So Bruce knew it had only been an excuse so she could talk to him.

Again, he thought that she looked incredibly lonely.

He wondered, not for the first time, where Lois Lane was and why she hadn’t come to keep company to Mrs Kent.

Bruce wasn’t the best company Mrs Kent could have─he stayed quiet most of the time. And he really didn’t appreciate all the stories about Clark that she kept recalling. It made him feel weird, and longing for something he knew he would never have.)

(He discovered, later, that Lois Lane had gone on a trip to Europe, Croatia, in a _Daily Planet_ mission. Bruce suspected that it was only an excuse to leave the States and the past behind.

From what he gathered, she’ll stay in Europe for a long time.)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about adding a scene where Clark was alive at the end but decided not to. This is strictly about Bruce and his way of mourning someone, and Mrs. Kent being the one to start making Bruce actually have feelings towards Clark.
> 
> P.S.: Light red carnation means admiration and adoration (obviously, Bruce was going for the admiration part). I thought about him giving a purple hyacinth, which means "I am sorry", "Please forgive me", and "Sorrow". However, I don't think Bruce would think himself worthy of Clark's forgiveness.


End file.
